#cespires

[doomrecords]

MALDITO ANTISOCIAL

Los integrantes de MALDITO ANTISOCIAL nos hablan sobre la banda

Mono: Maldito se convirtió en mi plan de vida, mis metas y objetivos. Se convirtió en el medio a través del cual podía mostrar al mundo mi perspectiva de la vida junto con mis compañeros. Nunca se sintió como una banda, sino como un grupo de amigos jugando con nuestros instrumentos e ideas musicales, compartiendo gustos y visiones sobre la música y la vida. Las canciones son una línea de tiempo que muestra nuestro crecimiento juntos como personas, ya que pasamos por la transición de ser niños a adultos durante esta etapa con la banda. Rodrigo, Ricardo, Victor y yo reiniciamos una idea que había muerto en 2019 antes de la pandemia, y así nació WANG, nuestro primer álbum. A pesar de todos los conflictos que tuvimos, Marcelo llegó para refrescar eso que en un momento habíamos dejado de lado: la amistad genuina, y nos convertimos en cinco. Estoy muy orgulloso de todo lo que he vivido con estos muchachos y planeo vivir muchos más momentos juntos.

Rodrigo: Tenía 15 años y aún no había experimentado la emoción de subirme al escenario para hacer música, de ensamblar canciones a partir de un ensayo o simplemente disfrutar de una buena tarde hablando de influencias musicales con mis amigos. Maldito me brindó la oportunidad de crecer y desarrollarme como músico, pero sobre todo me dio la libertad de conectarme con la batería de manera auténtica. No había una forma "correcta" de tocar; solo necesitaba ser yo mismo. Lo importante era ser auténtico y fiel a mi esencia. Eso sería perfecto para la banda. Con el tiempo, nuestra convicción se vio recompensada: ganamos el amor de un público muy leal al que admiro profundamente, y forjamos amistades que siempre llevaré en mi corazón. Estoy eternamente agradecido porque Maldito es la prueba viviente de que con pasión se triunfa, y lo demás se adquiere en el camino.

Victor: Mono me habló vía Messenger para preguntarme si quería formar parte de una banda. Al principio, pensé que sería solo otro proyecto más, pero terminó por convertirse en una parte importante de mi vida. A pesar de que la amistad siempre fue lo fundamental , hacer música para que el público la disfrutara era una sensación interesante. Saber que, tanto como guitarrista como bajista, podía despertar esas ganas de pogear y disfrutar con más gente era gratificante.

Marcelo: Conocí a taco cuando una amiga me compartió una historia en Instagram donde estaba pidiendo ayuda para operar a su gata. Tiempo después, escuché "Cespiral", una canción que había lanzado y me gustaba mucho, así que empezamos a hablar más sobre música. Sin embargo, no conocí a los chicos en persona hasta el evento que organizaron en marzo de 2023; fue entonces cuando finalmente pude conocer a todos en persona. Meses después, taco me invitó a tocar para su proyecto en Barranco. En esa ocasión, pude hablar más con ellos y me ayudaron mucho durante la situación que estaba atravesando en ese momento. Realmente fueron un motivo para levantarme. Me invitaron a formar parte de Maldito Antisocial para el SLMP, el evento de mi amigo Ralessan, y desde entonces han surgido muchas experiencias preciosas, algunas dolorosas, pero creo que hemos logrado consolidar una amistad que ha perdurado hasta el día de hoy. Genuinamente los quiero mucho.

Taco: Maldito Antisocial ha sido fundamental en nuestra formación y crecimiento personal y profesional. Todos estamos de acuerdo en eso. Para mí, particularmente, ha sido una experiencia invaluable, ya que han sido mis primeros trabajos como productor.

La seguridad y el apoyo que he recibido de mis compañeros de banda han sido cruciales. Han sido ellos quienes me han animado a atreverme a hacer cosas que antes me parecían inalcanzables. Siempre estaré agradecido por esta etapa en la que hemos crecido juntos.

nota por doom records · fotografías por @mina.delicata

[greenrevolution7]

Producido por Ricardo Montalván / TACO ROKI

• WANG – Maldito Antisocial (2023) | Producción, mezcla y masterización • btw – mi mejor amigo scott (2023) | Grabación, producción, mezcla y masterización • notengonadabuenoquedecir – mi mejor amigo scott (2023) | Grabación, producción, mezcla y masterización • inevitable – TACO ROKI (2023) | Producción • cespiral – TACO ROKI (2023) | Producción • Aunque no lo entiendas – TACO ROKI (2024) | Producción • Cada vez que te veo – TACO ROKI (2025) | Producción • El reencuentro – Lugares Turísticos de Alemania (2023) | Grabación, producción, mezcla y masterización • Después del verano – Lugares Turísticos de Alemania (2023) | Grabación, producción, mezcla y masterización • temor – Claustrofóbicos (2024) | Arreglos y coproducción • Valentina – Wantan Frito (2024) | Grabación, producción, mezcla y masterización • Luna – Wantan Frito (2024) | Grabación, producción, mezcla y masterización

[ergoprox]

@cespires

Sohee decides to work during that strange hour when the heat of the mid afternoon is so overbearing that even the shade from the apple trees does little to cool anything that rests underneath it — despite this she continues to work. She gathers apples and tosses them into a nearby basket without bothering to sort the ripe from the rotten. Each fruit is the same to her anyway, each poisoned from within.

It’s not as if the orchard is a place worthy of interest. Aside from the trees in perfect rows that continue to grow despite her efforts to kill them off the grass is overgrown with weeds and nettles that shelter snakes and other wildlife. And yet, there’s still a soul that lingers. 

“Who are you... what are you doing here?” 

The soul is pale and the way it flickers from transparent to solid leaves Sohee uncertain if the ghost will even be able to answer her before it fades entirely — she reaches out to the figure, inviting it to approach her she speaks soft. “I can help you move from this world... is that why you’ve found me?” Sohee stands still, waiting. 

It occurs to her that perhaps this is not an ordinary spirit with a last wish that keeps it bound to this earth. Given the strange aurora that surrounds her grandfather’s home and with the appearance of Hyuna and with it the sun goddess’ pigued interest the area may be a place of interest after all. 

Another thought occurs to her that perhaps this spirit also the force behind the gardens will to survive. 

Sohee breathes out, face unreadable she takes a step forward. “If you’re what i think you are by poisoning the trees i’ve poisoned you. Let me heal you, please.” 

[inhyelation]

❝ you saw the messed up parts of me and stayed. ❞

@cespires

“that’s just how it is.”

the room starts to spin.

“you, lee hyeri.”

jieun. hyeri. hyeri, hyeri, hyeri.

me?

“you stayed. you wanted to stay. why?”

maybe this is what it’s really like. ending credits. blankets of snow. dying candles and her heart on her sleeve. the third bottle of chardonnay. 2am and a girl with a mouthful of laughter.

“hurts.”what does?“here. right here.”things happen for a reason.“that’s bullshit, hyeri.”

the radio drones on. lampposts flicker on outside. there isn’t a single star in the sky to point out. 

“and you. you need to stop thinking so much. about… that.”( i guess it’s just a game. all of it. ) “when will you rest?”

2am chardonnay and layers of laughter. finally: what do you mean?

“when will you let me stay, too?”( what do i do? )“we drink. we drink, lee hyeri.” 

okay, in the raise of her glass: fourth, fifth, who the fuck knows?

this. this is meaningful. the first few seconds of watercolor peach touching her cheeks. her fingers around jieun’s wrist and her mind so far gone. 

“we drink.”

hyeri laughs. messy hair in a loose waterfall down her shoulders. cheeks flushed. mouth molding around the cold glass in her hands.

( 2am chardonnay and nothing else. ) nothing else.

“mhm. me and you.”

her head spins. 360 degrees and then some. she fogs up the glass with her laughter and empties her world with the last drop. it’s bullshit. i’m not her –

“who is she?”

hyeri sighs. watches the last candle die out in a faint wisp of smoke.

she isn’t me. never was.

[sanguinie]

❛ Are you joking? ❜

meme / not accepting

it was easier to laugh than to frown, metaphorically and literally, but baekhyun never really thought about relatively useless information such as that. still, he lived by that simple fact, a smile almost always plastered onto his face, so much so that anything near a frown was simply unwelcome and perhaps a bit shocking to those who knew him best. it’s easy to laugh at nothing, turn the simplest of life’s pleasures into something wonderful just by laughing, but then again maybe he just took things over the top. he wasn’t sure, but he was happy.

so, sitting there with an unfamiliar figure before him, he can’t help but laugh a little at the tone of her voice, so serious despite him being anything but. he wonders if it’s unwelcome, considers this fact, and stops laughing, a soft smile settling on his face instead.

“yes, i am.” he shrugs, looking up to meet her eyes, head tilting. “there’s plenty of things to laugh about, isn’t there?” he points to the sign he’d been laughing at in the first place before she’d come along, a printed ad for some beauty store where a woman with a ridiculous expression was promoting some new face cream. it wasn’t funny, not really, but he couldn’t have helped but snort at it anyway. now he realized that maybe she’d mistook it for him making a joke out of her somehow as if she hadn’t realized his gaze had been rooted to the sign, it’d be easy to mistake him for looking directly at her. he just hoped she understood.

“sorry if i offended you, though, i didn’t mean it, honest.” another small laugh, this time apologetic, as one hand comes up to ruffle his hair before both hands fall into his lap. 

[igniso]

@cespires // i. November's are made for writers when the world transitions into a play of insomnia, and her ink-stain fingertips take to leaving the ghost of their presence on the apples of his cheek and bow of his lips.

ii. In many ways her silence is a riddle, even when their nights are long he knows only one thing: that he doesn’t want to go home. He never wants to go home, feeling so brave at heart because he’s an avid keeper of silly notions so he holds firm to the belief that he can take on the challenge of the thousand years that weigh heavily on her shoulders. 

iii. He knows that she’s lived a thousand times over him. And he’s foolish to think that he can count the layers that make up Jieun when she’s already centuries ahead. That for every century he gains he’s still short a millennium. It’s only plausible to understand that for every minute he takes one step forward, he’ll still be the same distance away from her as when he first started. This doesn’t stop him from wearing her ink-stains like the battle paint of a warrior that’s proud and vigilant.  

iv. The way the red wax falls on the letters are just another reminder that for people such as them most relationships are sealed in blood— he has to be careful— because he’ll willing break his heart everyday for her and still gather up the pieces to offer it as a token, dirt and all. Heart break, and all. It’s just another reminder that all things in the shade of red, burgundy wine, pomegranates, and lunar eclipses are theirs for the taking.

v. Broken pieces, or nothing — with what part of him is alive or dead he still prays, begging with unplaced courage. “(dear god), if it will keep my heart soft, break my heart every day.”

[lostambition-archive]

@cespires

minnie was a creature of habit. particularly bad ones, but predictable nonetheless. it was always hard to give up something, especially things that brought warmth and filled The Void ( stylized with a capital v because it is eternal and permanent and a friend because it has become a part of her. ) and jieun became one as time stretched on. it started with a simple story, because the girl has plenty, as well as an abundance of patience to sit through her onslaught of questions that usually ensue after hearing the ending. both were never very good when it came to strangers, but she felt an audible click when they met -- a sound that indicated that something misaligned had finally fell into place. if minnie could think of herself as a believer of faith and destiny, she’d think that the two were bound to cross paths at one point. where she was rough and jagged, jieun was always soft and smooth, so minnie thought by association one day she, too, could become soft. 

a form of adoration blossomed for jieun. maybe not adoration, that was putting it too lightly, but it was something desperate and filled with hope ( always hope because jieun taught her that not all stories come with happy endings, and sometimes hope is all you have at the end. ) but she never wanted to impose such fragile feelings onto the other, so she kept it bottled inside, though it never festered, more so tinged the poisoned bits in her and made them well again.

but now she believes that perhaps her admiration was manifesting into something greater because now she swore she was inside jieun’s head. quite literally. she’s looking at jieun’s reflection in the mirror, but it’s not really jieun, it’s minnie, but its also simultaneously jieun. physically she could see the refraction staring back at her, the spitting image of jieun (and herself?) but she could also physically see the other standing in front of the mirror. the whole situation has her head throbbing in both frustration and confusion, and she isn’t sure if she should be feeling worried or flat out afraid. 

“is this a dream? a vision?” the whole situation isn’t completely farfetched, because really, even she is at a loss with what she sees most of the time, but the strong presence of knowing that she was right there at that moment, but simultaneously not, is something she’d never experienced before. “i think that its a dream, because you’re not really here, are you? tell me, other jieun, what words of wisdom do you have for me today? have you come to remind me of the devil’s prophecy, because i can assure you that i know what it wants.” 

[glitchedcraft-blog]

❝ I was out of control. ❞

( meme status: not accepting! )

If there was one thing (among many, many things) Candy loved unconditionally, it was dogs. She was weak to each one she met, stopping and petting them, even if their owners didn’t appreciate it. They would forever take up a huge chunk of her heart with their round eyes full of life and adoration. Each person a dog met was their new best friend and Candy wished to somehow strive to be the same.

But a certain Lee Jieun already occupied that status and neither of them would allow it to be given up.

After much coaxing from other people in her life, Candy decided the best way to battle the loneliness, which swept over her nearly empty apartment, was to get a fuzzy companion. Hours within the journey across various animal shelters, she stumbled upon The One. She was all black and more than eager to hold out her paw in greeting. Not only was she friendly, but she exuded the softness, which Candy longed to have herself. It was love at first sight.

“You’re just like a princess, aren’t ya, Zelda?” she cooed, scratching the dog behind her floppy ear. Zelda, who seemed pleasantly pleased with the new moniker, wagged her tail and bounced excitedly.

On the day Zelda came home, Candy wanted to go out and get some last minute toys and treats, but didn’t want to leave the dog in a foreign environment. There was just one option as to who to call for babysitting duties. Jieun had always been nervous around animals (for whatever strange reason), but she didn’t trust anyone else to look after her place and pet.

She was gone for an hour. An hour and a half at the most. Yet she came back to a war zone. At least three of her beloved plants had been knocked over, dirt and water strewn across the floor. Lamps had either fallen or were completely busted. But the worst part was her new custom painted pink mouse had been mangled beyond all recognition.

“What happened?” Candy finally managed to ask, an extremely nervous Jieun stuck in a nearby corner.

Her friend relayed a story of how Zelda tried to jump on her (”She just wanted to love you!” “No! It was scary!”), so she ended up running around the living room, trying to avoid her. In the process, a huge mess was made and the dog made a nice plastic meal of the mouse.

“I’m sorry. I was out of control. But it was mostly her fault.”

And while this was true, Candy had never been one to hold a grudge.

Thankfully, she had emergency money saved up for such an occasion.

Wrapping an arm around the still shivering woman, she leaned her head against hers. “It’s okay. Obviously, I need to shell out for a dog sitter next time, so you won’t be traumatized. But―” she spoke sternly, “you and Zelda have to get along! You’re both my loves and I won’t have you getting into fights or destroying my apartment every time you come over.”

This would end up being much easier said than done.

But for Candy, it would always be worth it.

[warsk]

It is only when he arrives at the window that he realizes time is a fabrication only to him; he notes the dents on the wooden frame, observes the aging of the willow tree, and peeks upon her face, where her smile is all the same except for the kiss of the wear of time.

The same clock from before daunts him, every click a reminder that they do not exist in the same scape; that time has estranged them back to strangers once more.

He nears the frame, fingers grappling with the edges with an attempt to remain in place. Every time she looks away, he peers upon her, again and again, with a kind of tenderness that could murder. He probes the way age sits upon her features, how it has not been kind to her hands, and how rough it has been to her skin. Caught up in the act, he soon notices her, staring right back, with him, an open book for her to read. 

He doesn’t mean to catch her eye but it is his heart that keeps him from disappearing away from her gaze. He only meets her glance, eyes asking for her to come to the window once more, as they had done the first time, when her heart was as young as her curiosity, begging to be answered, pleading to find something worth more than the four walls enclosing her in this place she called home. His hands pry the window open, just enough for his voice to pass through. 

Then carefully, he calls, “Jieun.” 

-- and gives up everything in just the spoken syllables of her name, the one thing that has stood against the test of time. 

(I know you wanted to wake up, but that doesn’t mean you miss the dreaming.)

@cespires

[sinohr]

round two, with @cespires​

(...)

“...huh.” he hadn’t thought about clothes. “i guess i wouldn’t really wanna go in my underwear.”

he knows that look--  people always think there has to be meaning behind everything. kid with the smile, you gotta have a sad story, a fucked up childhood... something, right? yeah, fuck that- he’s all about living in the shallow end. accepting everything at face value. you trust someone or you don’t.  jieun might not be his ride-or-die, but he knows a good confidant when he sees one.

he’s still a kid, but he’s not stupid.

“fuck yeah i would.  this is why you’re my favorite jieun.” his only jieun. whatever.  the curve of his lips grows twofold, broad and evidently pleased with her answer.  life doesn’t follow rules, so he doesn’t waste any more time worrying about the end scene.  she swivels on her stool; he follows suit, reaching out afterwards to place his hands on the seat of hers.  

"when i die, i’m gonna go down in history. with a bang.” he’ll make sure to clean up the city first, though. bang.

end of discussion. 

“let’s go get something to eat, noona.  my treat.”

[jkbaws]

cespires:

It was now or never.

A glimmer of hope flitted through her head, and she thought perhaps today would be the day. perhaps today would be the beginning of her seeing the world through jennie’s eyes. She’s never had courage, never had enough faith in someone else to even begin telling this truth. Yet, somehow, there have been more and more people she wanted to know that they had the world in their hands.

And jennie was no exception.

“Listen,” She sat beside her, grabbing hold of the younger girl’s hand. Her hands were shaky, and she tightened her grip in hopes that maybe it’ll stop the trembling of her fingers. Or maybe she was just stopping the circulation in jennie’s hand. She could’ve laughed at herself for thinking she could hear the drumming of her heart, but again, maybe that was a trick her mind was playing on her.

(a dead girl trying to believe she’s still human).

“I’m not at all like how you think I am.” The words fall off her lips like grains of sand falling in an hourglass. Eventually, there would be an end. Eventually, she would have to stop. Time was ticking against her, and if she didn’t finish in time, she doesn’t know when the next time she’ll be able to say these words. “And I’m sorry for lying. For lying every time I’m with you.”

she closed her eyes, sighing heavily as she imagined her time running out. the mocking voice in her head told her she wouldn’t be able to do it. The sand fell quicker and quicker, but she knew it wasn’t. She was just wasting more time. But she’s been here for so long, and she’s wasted enough time being afraid of everything. Of hurting.

So she decided with a reassuring squeeze from jennie that she wouldn’t be afraid. That she’ll go however far time lets her. that rather than being a prisoner, she’ll become a companion.

“So here’s the truth.”

we tend to project serenity upon the silent, but in person, jennie has the tense energy of a coiled spring, or a set trap. it was the same way jieun was in jennie's eyes. she supposed at this moment at hand, that image of her friend was about to be bent. not shattered but bent, only because this energy could mean absolutely anything and the ambiguity of that idea leaves room for something unexpected.

it was worrisome to think that someone you know wasn't the person you always knew them as. she imagined it was the same for most people, if not everyone. either way, she imagined the people who didn't feel bothered by it were numbed to emotions, desensitized to the human condition or denied of it in general. a curse, she might emphasize. jennie had no clue what she was about to be confronted by, not an inkling of why she had been summoned for this in the first place. it must be so important that it had to be in a setting filled with all the tautness in the air.

"i'm listening..." her voice hinted the harrow within her nerves. she held onto the hopeful side of the situation no matter how gloomy it might seem on the surface. she did so the same way she gripped at jieun's hand in return, almost just as tight. she couldn't care less for the pressure squeezing into her veins. she was plunged into brooding, wondering whether this sudden confession would make her despise the friend all in all.

she hated liars. she had been a victim to many of them. she had victimized many others as well, and she hated herself for doing so. which was the reason for her silence at the mention of it, knowing she might not want to forgive her but at the same time wishing it needn't come to that. fingers squeezed after hers, and more silence with only her eyes communicating with the friend.

how bad could it be anyway?

[pijichu]

for @cespires

it happens by accident— there’s too much clutter beneath her bed, and in an act of defiance (because she really should be practicing right now), she’d lowered herself on her hands and knees to sort it out.  amidst the dust several neglected trinkets emerged: a dusty peach-shaped keychain, the beaded bracelet she’d gotten two birthdays ago, a lone sock.  squinting into the dark, she’d just managed to fish out her old phone charm when something knocked against her hand. something solid, worn at the edges.

a book.

nestled in her lap, she examines it silently.  the cover had faded in color, aged by disuse, once a vibrant blue.  fingers trailing along the spine, she breathes in as if it’d restore old memories- old stories she’d once cherished. how many months had it been?

she remains where she sits, phone pressed to her hand, mouth pressed tight in anticipation.  pick up, pick up- “unnie?” she can’t make out a reply, so she presses forward. “it’s me. jisoo. i’ve been thinking….was thinking, just now, actually.  about you.”

“will you make time for me?”

[inhyelation]

ø , &

texts - accepting - @cespires

Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.

( kkt // jieun🌸 ) it’s just become one of those things that keep me up, y’know? of course you do. ( kkt // jieun🌸 ) you always do.

Send “&” for a LOVING text.

( kkt // jieun🌸 ) nope nope 🔫💘  no matter what he says, i’ll always love you more ㅋㅋ 

[eterneli]

❛ I will not be another flower, picked for my beauty and left to die. I will be wild, difficult to find and impossible to forget. ❜

VARIOUS STARTERS.      // Accepting. (x)

「 † 」 —                     Rough digits leaf through delicate pages as the solid cover of a book rests against the flat surface of his palm, his figure intruding the wooden material within the store by hopping on the counter, legs neatly set atop each other as hazel hues run through rows of black ink against endless pieces of paper. The conversation has been entangled in between his reading, something about flowers made into metaphors – he wasn’t exactly paying attention until a certain set of words reverberated through the enclosure.

Amber orbs are lead to rest upon the female out of curiosity, his figure twisting by a few inches so he may comfortably face the latter. “I will not be another flower, picked for my beauty and left to die. I will be wild, difficult to find and impossible to forget.” It enough to spark interest and enough for the pianist to pick up on the subject. In his judgment it comes from experience, something damaging enough to draw one to change their ways in order to adapt within a merciless society.

There’s an amused smile coiling at the edges of his lips as palms abruptly close the book at hand, carefully placing the masterpiece by the side as his figure inclines further towards the female. “Wow, who hurt you?” Words are coated by thick toxin, something sarcastic that rolls off his tongue offhandedly. Was it not for the spark of interest, he would’ve probably erupted in laughter by now.

But instead his figure retracts, slender strings of fingers intertwining to perfectly fit like a cap to the thin structure of his knee, a foot swaying back and forth from a dangling leg over the other. “You don’t strike me as the type to take that bullshit so, seems fair enough.” Within simulated hues lies something like a set of claws ready to pounce, to dig deep and unveil whatever reasoning she may have behind such words, a brow ascending in inquiry as the smile across his complex twists into something malevolent instead. “How do you plan on doing such a thing though? As far as I’m concerned, wild flowers are born, not made.”

[igniso]

@cespires

We'll lay here for years or for hours Your hand in my hand, so still and discreet — So long, we'd become the flowers

( 04:36:07 ) 

Jieun’s face is an anomaly that Christo despite having seen a thousand times, only wishes to see a thousand more. He and her ghosts, study the contrast that her skin and dark hair leave against the green cut of the grass, he admires the rose staining her cheeks, lips, and the tips of her fingers that twitch ever so slightly in her sleep. 

Even from the slight distance he sits away from her, he can feel that her blood flows, albeit slow, it’s warm and sweet much unlike the spirit that takes her entirety from him during her waking hours. The dawn always approaches so suddenly, striking him violently but the morning stirs the spirit within her gently, rousing her to wake — he lets her fingers go just to turn back time.

( 04:01:00 )  

With each new turn of the clock, sometimes Christo will lay his body next to hers. Then, and only then does he’s certain God created one of hands for holding one of hers. The other is made to brush away the ghosts who like to stroke her hair, fascinated as he is by such a radiant lovely thing to be within their grasp.  

Other rewinds of the clock, he uses his time biding the foxes, urging them to take interest in the songs he’s written for her. Eager, their fur is as cold as it is red and on nights like those, his fingers ignore what they’re made for and will play the strings of his guitar, allowing the melodies to fade one into another. Sometimes he’ll play until his fingers bleed just so he can remember that like these foxes, his blood flows slow, cold and black.

( 05:21:05 ) 

Then there are the times when he can’t hold her hands when his are painted in the shades of someone else’s red, he can’t bring himself to look her in the eye, so he hires the fireflies.

Christo lures them. The fireflies come one by one in lines searching for the sweetness of the honey inside of them. With each close of a lid he whispers a silent plea that each will live, he selfishly asks them to stay alive long enough to chase off the dark lingering in Jieun’s eyes. 

Christo then tucks each individual jar into his pack saving their light for a night when somewhere on the other side of the thick of trees there’s a girl he doesn’t want to lose, he bends the rules of magic to get back to her safely — he leaves the woods, crosses the border of this world and the on intertwined unnoticed.

He takes only what he needs to get back the girl he once knew. (And will always love.)

[inwolvesteeth]

warmth in bloom

      @cespires

youth is wasted on the young.

he can see it some mornings where the sun rises too early and the quietness of the city resembles that of the dead. volatile teenagers with too many knives in their tongues, pumping out cash he guesses they either stole or earned in some illegal job, buying drugs like it was some kind of game ( but there’s never a winner ). he can see wasted youth in their ugly words and trembling bodies and searching dark eyes.

he can see it in every lie that they have lived, and every hope that has failed them.

there should be a problem, he thinks, with the way they seem to think as if everything is alright. jungkook senses desperation, in ways that seem remarkably extraordinary-- as if, somehow, he had this power to reach into the hearts of others and feel their soul as his own. or maybe he was merely experiencing his own sadness, caught indefinitely in a cycle of undirected bitterness for something he doesn’t believe even exists. he knows that keeping it quiet was a heartache the boy could not handle. no matter how many bruises he may have or how many tattoos, his very soul is still the gentlest part of himself.

amongst the cold, the sun burns.

the situation exists in front of the laundromat. he shakes his head and kicks up his skateboard to clip onto his backpack. his stomach is roaring with hunger, and it immediately shows on his face as he looks somewhat pained. “do I look tired ? I guess I am.” he smiles, looking across the distance between to meet her eyes. “just lotsa work problems. y’know.” jungkook kicks a can, watching as it skids across the pavement and nearly hits some random woman walking by. he reaches out to touch jieun’s shoulder, but something stops him halfway. maybe it’s the way she looks or the cold or his burdens, but he steps back and touches his own neck instead.

“can we-- talk ? I think I might need some, advice, or something.”

he tightens his hands into fists, keeps them in his pockets instead.